


A Kiss

by Ginger Ninja (FlyingNerdBunny)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blood, M/M, Self-Harm, Slight USUK if you squint, Sorta Poetic, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:44:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3681984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingNerdBunny/pseuds/Ginger%20Ninja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England has had enough of his life. (Terrible summary but how else does one put it????)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Description of self-harm etc. Could be triggering, please exercise caution and DON'T DO THIS. I AM NOT PROMOTING SELF-HARM OR SUICIDE THIS IS SIMPLY FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES.

A kiss. Such a simple gesture, the joining of two people's lips in a sometimes innocent touch, and sometimes in a fiery tango, meshing together. 

But why does it mean so much? England could often be found wondering exactly that. He'd shared many, quite a few were results of drunken escapades and failed experiments. He knew none of them meant anything, yet to others, the fact that he'd ended up kissing at least seven people per night in his more... Rebellious stages was a shock, a horror, a sin. He couldn't fathom why.

The idea that they meant anything was ludicrous to him, his attitude towards love harsh and cold, no longer fantasizing about such things after centuries of heartbreak and shattered innocence. He often found himself envying the likes of the European countries, and the younger ones too, for they either all managed to find a way to cling to that hope of finding love or haven't been shown the true, painful dark side of it. So simple kisses in neon lit bars that tasted of vodka and whiskey were nothing. Meant nothing. Gave nothing yet took nothing either, just a mediocre emptiness to drown in for a few minutes, to take refuge within. 

The same could be said for sex. Arthur couldn't remember a time when sex wasn't painful or empty, it was just a way to escape your troubles for an hour or so, something that came naturally without thought or feeling. As far as he was concerned, it was ruined for him at a very young age, and after the ways people had treated him and vice versa, he knew there was no way he would ever think differently on the matter.

It had been centuries since he last found himself loving someone, but unsure of how to live with it, he pushed them away. England sighed, standing. He missed the days when he had a lot of respect and people looked up to him. He felt wanted, needed, feared. Now, he just felt emptiness, resorting to two personalities to help void that gap that he felt in his being.

Staring out of his window at the rain outside, he began to ponder. What would life be like if he hadn't let him go? If he had just fought harder, or not made him resent him in the first place. Arthur turned so his back was against the window, letting his eyes fill with tears that closely resembled the rain outside. His whole life was a shambles, he always managed to fail in some way.

Of course he was talking about America. No doubt about it, he was his pride and joy, and, later on, the object of his undying affection. Never had he felt stronger for anyone, except maybe a few exceptional rulers and bosses he'd had over time. But that was different. So different because he was still here to remind him of his failures. Still here to prove to him that his life was, he was, a shipwreck. Still here to flaunt how free he was. How much he didn't need anyone when he was the one needed so badly by someone he had left.

Now the tears just fell, the weather outside worsening. If he had been with company, he'd simply shut himself off from them behind his wall of profanity, but, being alone caused the emotions to just flow freely.

A few minutes passed, and the rain of tears turned to a tsunami. Arthur just couldn't stop himself from releasing the tirade of emotions, centuries of it bottled up inside, ready to cascade. Each tear symbolised another battle he had lost, each sob a soldier dying, each weep a battalion going down and each murmuring of a plea for help a new surrender.

All England wanted was to feel that feeling that everyone raved about, to wake up in someone's embrace, to feel that warmth spreading through his body at each feather-light touch, to love and be loved. But with centuries of nothing, he knew, no matter what, that he'd never get that. He'd spend the rest of his existence lonely, cold and sad, and no one would bother to care enough to help pull him out of the ditch he'd fallen into long, long ago.

The sky outside darkened, the clouds overhead moving more rapidly, the rain beating down on the streets below and gathering in the streets. People murmured louder, umbrellas popping up everywhere in the hopes that they would protect them from the storm that was brewing.

Arthur could feel his emotions shifting. No longer was he just sad and heartbroken but angry that no matter what, no one gave the time to care about the island nation enough to notice how truly broken he was and how much he just needed someone, anyone to take away the pain he felt. Angry at himself for letting it get this far, angry at the fact that he was weak, angry that he just couldn't do anything about it except sit on his windowsill and cry like a child, a child who had been left alone to suffer with life and what it throws at them. To suffer with the pain of what he had been to people, a slave, a slave driver, a toy.

For three hours straight, Arthur cried on his windowsill, the weather outside getting even worse still. He had forgotten of the days plans and that he had a meeting that was supposed to start an hour ago. He had ignored each phone call, every text and voicemail, knowing deep down that the others didn't care enough to come and check on him. 

And lo and behold, no one came. He didn't eat for the rest of that day, the night came and went in the same way and he felt himself slipping. He'd never get that one kiss that symbolised everything. No. It was pointless, he was putting nothing new to the world. Was there even a point in him being here anymore?

"No. No point." He told himself, standing shakily and moving to the stairs. It ends here, he thought to himself. The pain would finally end. He wouldn't have to suffer any more, and neither would the people who had to deal with him.

The razors in his bathroom glinted at him temptingly, how could he resist such a promise that they gave him? Taking a hold of one, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. A few slices across the wrist, and all would be sorted. Fill the bathtub, and he could lay there in blissful death. He wouldn't be dead long. He was a country. But long enough to give people a chance to forget him. To live without problems.

So he did just that. He moved slowly to the bathtub, turning both taps on fully to drown out the sound of his sniffing. Arthur watched it fill to the top before climbing in, fully clothed and still clinging to the razor in his hand. Pulling up the sleeves of his pristine white shirt, he dragged the blade of the razor over his thin wrist deeply, watching the beautiful red blood begin to flow from the cut, a sigh escaping his lips as he did the same to the other.

Relaxing back, Arthur let fresh tears leave his eyes much like how the blood left his wrists, dying the clear water a ruby red, a gradient slowly being created. He slipped further under the water, a calming darkness encircling his consciousness and suffocating him.

At last, that kiss that he so desired was placed upon him. One that promised everything, and gave everything, yet took everything too. The kiss of death.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment, comments amuse me. And I'll be pleasantly surprised if anyone bothers.


End file.
